


Mathematically Speaking

by dontkeepmehere



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Non-explict reference to eating disorders, References to Depression, Student / Teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontkeepmehere/pseuds/dontkeepmehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for glowstickofdestinyy who asked for teacher!Bond and Student!Q on tumblr.</p>
<p> James teaches Q mathematics and become increasingly concerned for the brilliant but broken boy that he’s supposed to teach. As he becomes increasingly invested in his pupil's life James struggles to maintain professionalism in the face of temptation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mathematically Speaking

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Mentions of depression and eating disorders. Also Q is eighteen but he is a pupil James’ sixth form class. Please be aware of this before reading as I would hate to upset anyone.

“New term and a new textbook.” Bond moved up and down the aisles of the desks in the classroom slapping a textbook down in front of each student. “Write you names in them. Lose them and you will be charged.”

“Sir, do you want this back?”

“What?” Bond stopped and turned to the boy who had just spoken.  The spectacled boy was holding the textbook out to Bond expectantly.

“No, it’s your textbook. You need it.”

“I don’t, sir. I’ve already got a personal copy. I - uh - completed the textbook over the break.”

“Of course you did, Thompson.” Bond sighs as he snatches the textbook back from the boy before continuing to hand out the rest of the books.

“Call me Q.”

“Sorry - Forgot I was talking to our resident genius. Tell me, Q, am I actually going to  _teach_ you anything this year?”

“Depends on what you mean by teach, sir,” Q smirks as he meets the teacher’s eye. “If you mean will I sit in the back of your classroom for three hours every week then yes, certainly. If you mean will you actually impart knowledge that was hitherto unknown to me, no. I’ve finished the course. Sorry.”

* * *

Mr. Bond announces the end of the lesson and the students are instantly packing up and moving out of the classroom quickly and noisily. Everything’s faster and louder now that they’re a couple of weeks into Hilary term, also know as Spring term at all institutions that do not cost in excess of twenty-five grand per annum.

Bond raises his voice above the crowd. “Q, one minute please.”

The boy stills at the back of the room. He’s always the last to leave, dawdling in the heat of the class room before he has to shrug on his ratty parka over his suit and head out into the January chill. Slowly he moves the front so that the classroom is clear when he reaches the teacher.

“Mr. Bond? You wanted me?”

“Yes.” The teacher leans over his computer and pulls up his marking and assessment files. “I’m missing your exercises for last week.”

“Sorry, sir. Been busy.”

“You need to get them in. I don’t play favourites.” Bond straightens  and looks down at the boy. He’s disappointed. “Work a bit harder, you’ll need maths for a Computer Science degree.”

Q moves to leave. Something Bond has said has triggered a  strong and irrational rage inside Q and he wants to get out of there. “Thank you, sir,” he grits out as he pulls open the door.

“And Q,” The boy pauses in the door to listen to Bond. “I saw you reading under your desk. Try Yates next, let me know what you think.”

* * *

Q’s got something of a penchant for depravation. It’s a nice way to practice control, to push himself to see how good he really is. Sometimes he doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, doesn’t do anything but work.

When Mr Bond tells him he’s not trying hard enough Q starts stopping again. He’s trying bloody hard but clearly it’s not enough. He needs it to be enough, he can’t stand to see Bond so disappointed again.

He hands in the missing exercises and the next few chapters worth as well. Bond’s little smile when he collects the sheaf of papers from Q means it has all be worth it. He keeps on stopping. They’re something addictive about depravation.

Q keeps on reading at the back of the mathematics classroom. He becomes less and less subtle about it until he’s lounging in his chair with his book balanced on his crossed knees. When Bond has a minute whilst the rest of the class are working through an exercise or studying an example he’ll sit in a the empty desk next to Q’s and talk to the boy about the books he’s reading.

He doesn’t mind Yates. Thinks Fitzgerald is overrated but still brilliant. There must be something about American Literature because Bond has noticed, in the middle of his lesson on parametric  equations, that the Boy is currently racing through a pale blue copy of  _Lolita._  The thought makes James a little bit sad.

* * *

Bond’s waiting in the school health centre flicking through a medical file that, strictly speaking, he should not have access to.

Q’s file is thicker than it should be. The boy’s got low blood pressure, that’s the official position. Tow the party line. Q has been here before but today was the first time he’s fainted on James and the teacher’s naturally concerned.  He’d dismissed his class instantly and marched Q down to the health centre as soon as the boy was able to walk under his own power. James had been so tempted to carry him

Now Bond is waiting for Q to be let out, another half hour wait because it’s almost the end of the day, so he can see the boy before he heads home.

The rest of Q’s file is similarly terrible. Raynauds, glandular, regular bouts of influenza. There’s a particularly dark period filled with obscure write up of Q’s visits. At least once a week for the entirety of last year the boy checked himself into the health centre complaining of a migraine.

“We’re keeping him overnight, sir.” One of the nurses similes at James as he asks, as any teacher would, about the health of his student. “He’s not a boarder but we have the room.”

“Yes. Good.” Bond replies before turning to walk out of the health centre his mind turning over everything he had learnt from Q’s medical file.

* * *

Bond’s well aware that he is crossing a line. He’s never had much concern for lines, if breaking the rules meant he could get his job done then so be it. The following week James is teaching Q for the final period on a Thursday. He dismisses the class ten minutes early and the teenagers rush out before their teacher realises that he’s forgotten to set them homework.

Q dawdles. It’s like he knows what is coming. Maybe this was an inevitability.

James waits for the door to swing shut behind the last students disappearing form before he speaks. “You walk home don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you like a lift?”

“Sir - I’m not sure -” the boy begins but then hesitates. He makes a decision and begins again. “Yes, sir. I’d appreciate that.”

“Good, fetch your bags, I’ll meet you by South Gate in ten minutes.”

They meet as arranged and Q slips unseen into James’ car. The model is surprisingly modern and fast with comfortable seats that Q sinks into as he inhales. He's relieved not to be walking home in the chill. The car smells like peppermint and leather.

Q instructs James until the sleek car pulls up outside a tower of aged council flats. Q hops out, embarrassed by where he lives. Bond of course knows that Q's a scholarhsip student but there's something about the place that makes him grimace as Q gets out of the expensive car. Q’s just brave enough to ask: “Same time next week? Please?”

James nods then drives away quickly in an vain attempt to brush the grimy feeling of the tower block off him.

* * *

It becomes a weekly occurrence. They’re careful and vary strategies and routines so that they’re never seen. Their relationship goes unnoticed and undeveloped until the weather improves and the reach the half term break.

James is worried that now Q doesn’t need to avoid the harsh winter colds he’ll start to turn down the lifts. Sometimes James ignores the obvious.

Q’s about to get out of the car when he pauses. “Want to come up? It’s not much…In fact it’s vile but you - you’d be more than welcome.”

“Q - your parents -“

“They don’t live with me. It’s my own flat. Come up and I’ll explain.”

James learns a lot that night as he sits on Q’s sofa and listens the boy talking, directing the conversation primarily into his mug of tea because he can not look at this teacher as he explains this.

He divorced his parents. They’d both left him anyway and you get increased monetary support from the government if you’re technically an orphan. This happened last year, Q didn’t file for an official separation immediately, he had to avoid entering the care system. Q wanted to be alone. They skim over his medical history, James admits that he’s seen Q’s file and the boy doesn’t think there’s more to say. 

“The migraines?”

“They can’t report anything unless you ask for help. Or unless they think you’re a danger to yourself or others. I never was.”

James leaves without doing anything more than listening to his student and drinking his tea. He’s beginning to think that the lifts home may have to stop.

* * *

They don’t stop. Soon Q’s calling James by his first name although the occasional ‘sir’ creeps into their late night conversations. James doesn’t stop him, he likes it. James takes Q to school occasionally as well, Q loathes all physical activity so he’s glad.

James is counting down until the end of the school year. He's increasingly tense around the boy, the end of term cannot come soon enough. Q will graduate and they won’t be teacher and student anymore. Nothing is going to happen until then.

He almost made it. It’s the penultimate day of term and Q’s waiting for James at the public library which is a short walk away from the school and always deserted. Q’s slightly flushed as he hops into the low, fast car. He’s caring a blue, hardback book under his arm that James recognises with a sigh.

That night Q asks him breathily: “What’s the point in waiting one day more, James? We both know this is an inevitability, mathematically speaking. ”

James doesn’t refuse. It’s been a term and a half and he’s had a bloody enough of saying no when he really wanted to screaming yes into Q’s ear as the boy gives him everything he’s got. He takes Q to bed and forgets the boy is his student. Until Q looks up to him the haze of afterglow and asks: “How well did I do, sir?”

Damn him if it doesn’t just make James want him even more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on [my tumblr](http://dontkeepmehere.tumblr.com) . 
> 
> Slightly tempted to write a bit of PWP within this AU. Any thoughts?


End file.
